Who Saves The Savior
by deGorgeous
Summary: Emma wonders the inevitability of her fate as the Savior, and finds hope for the future when she needs it the most. Spoilers/speculation for 6x03.


The door shuts with a satisfying click as Emma takes her leave from Dr. Hopper's office late one afternoon. The resident therapist is unsurprisingly still in the business of handing out (mostly) sage advice to anyone willing to clear their conscious.

Surprisingly, however, Emma appears to be one of only a handful of patients in a town filled entirely of fairytale characters who've seen their fair share of crisis in just the span of a few years. Archie's schedule is so lax that she'd managed to occupy an extra twenty minutes of his time without so much as a word from him.

"See you next week?" He had asked expectantly, and as much of a relief as it had been to alleviate herself of even a fraction of all the baggage she was carrying, she'd hoped she wouldn't need to return. Emma had smiled politely in parting, seeing herself out of the dimly lit, carpeted room.

And it had been a relief, she can admit. Adverse as she was to the idea of opening up about her insecurities, she remembered the promise she had made inside an elevator shaft in the land of dead — to not put her armor back on; to open her heart and not live in fear — and promptly made an appointment to see Archie.

(And though he hadn't been present, she could feel Killian's pride in her, enveloping her like a warm blanket and giving her the courage to continue.)

Speaking with Archie — to anyone, really — had helped. More than Emma expected it would. Now that she'd had time to unwind, no longer racing around against a ticking clock, old wounds and ever-present doubts came creeping up and reached a level that couldn't be ignored. It felt like a reset button had been pushed as she strolled down Main Street. Like she'd just done laundry or replaced the coffee filter. It was nice and calming, but a temporary fix that Emma wasn't sure talking it out would eventually resolve for good.

Would she ever get reprieve from her life as the Bringer of Happy Endings? Would it always be a cycle, a never-ending succession of mission after mission? Would she ever feel like her _own_ happy ending had begun?

Then, she hears it: a sharp yet hollowed clashing from somewhere unseen. Her first instinct is to go into Sheriff mode to investigate, but the further she walks down the sidewalk, other sounds make themselves clear: exaggerated grunts, labored breaths, and the occasional burst of a distinct laughter that Emma would know anywhere.

"Well done, lad!"

"I almost had you that time," she hears her teenager declare in between dramatic exhalations.

Emma turns the corner and is welcomed to the sight of Killian and Henry standing in the middle of a patch of grass, facing one another and brandishing two long wooden sticks perfectly crafted for instruction.

She observes as Henry rubs at his side while Killian takes firm hold of his shoulder and gives a playful shake, wide grins on both their faces that mirror the one forming in her own.

(That look he gives her son — the one where his eyes go soft and his dimples peak out, where his whole expression overflows with fondness and awe and encouragement — it's that look Emma had pictured while laying on the leather couch in Archie's office when she'd voiced particularly hard truths to swallow. It's that look which gave her strength and made her feel truly invincible, and it makes her heart soar to see Henry receive that same brand of support that only a 300-year-old pirate can give.)

"So is this what you do instead of homework?"

Both of them perk up at that, their initial joy at seeing her almost immediately becoming mixed with just a hint of shame.

"I'll have you know," Killian responds, his hook raised up for emphasis, "that honing his skills with a sword is just as important as his academics." Henry lifts his chin in agreement and stands up straighter when the captain gestures towards him. "And Henry here is making significant progress. The boy's a natural."

"I've heard that one before," she teases, swaying into his space. His gaze turns serious then as he's surely noticed the slight swelling and redness around her eyes. Killian cants his head in a silent question of her wellbeing. She takes his hook and tugs in reassurance. _I'm ok_ , she tells him without a word spoken between them, knowing he understands.

From the corner of her eye she can see Henry backing away with a shake of his head, and mumbling something about taking his cue to go. Before he can get too far, she calls out to him. "Why don't you show me?"

The pair resume their original stances with added enthusiasm and Emma knows she's in for a show. Performer that he is, Killian doesn't disappoint, his parries and strikes executed with flare and finesse, while Henry blocks with confidence and even tries to lung at his teacher on a few occasions.

And there, sitting on a nearby picnic table, arms resting on her thighs and hands cupped around her jaw, Emma feels the remains of the day wash away. She feels inexplicably light, like the last remaining weight that had clung to her even after her therapy session had ended has been lifted off in a matter of minutes. Her True Loves — something Emma still has trouble wrapping her head around in its blissful ridiculousness — are embracing this new life as a family. Their breathy chuckles are her anchor to the respite she's found after months (after a lifetime) of fighting and searching for it.

This is her happy ending, one she's in the middle of without knowing when it had really started.

(She suspects it began sometime around a broken curse, falling through a portal and a climb up a beanstalk).

And in that way, they are her own personal saviors, and in that moment Emma feels it with such an intensity it's as though she may drown in it: _hope._ _  
_ _  
._


End file.
